


We've got a world of Black-Eyed Blues

by karrenia_rune



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: Gen, Small Fandom Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The group accepts a contract to escort an Iberian nobleman and his cargo across the mountains so that he can present them to his betrothed in the city of Zaragoza. However, not everything is at it appears to be and they have to contend with raiders and witch rumored to be casting a ‘sleeping sickness among the men, women and children in the area. Note: Set several months post events shown in the movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've got a world of Black-Eyed Blues

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork and book jacket by the fantastic Tabhrigh for Round 4 of the Small Fandoms Big Bang  
> here http://archiveofourown.org/works/3646308.html

“We’ve got a world of Black Eyed Blues” by Karrenia

The dray cart with its set of stubborn and sour-tempered mules trundled along the dusty road jostling the cargo laden in barrels and baskets, and boxes on its bed. Watching both mules and drivers and cargo alike with a wary eye, Gretel appreciated not having to drive it. 

It looked as unwieldy and uncomfortable as the thumbs-and screws torture device she had once seen used at some would-be warlord’s execution of his enemies. That aforementioned warlord had called the device an Iron Maiden, as if that made it any less horrific. Gretel had been tempted to expose the weasel-faced little man to his own devices, but alas, it was not to be.

She winced and looked up at the orb of the sun just now rising upon the shoulders of the mountains. She squinted and then raised one shielding hand in front of her eyes in order to judge the time. 

If she was any judge, she would say that they were making good time despite their late start and the trouble of sorting out the supplies with the residents at the village nestled at the foot of the mountains.

Her brother, Hansel, sat on a boulder busy self-medicating with the dosage that kept his sugar-sickness at bay, and while he was busy doing that she did not want to disturb him. 

Gretel had never really been the type to dwell on the past or let it get to her in any palpable manner because she would much rather keep rolling forward like the boulder rolling downhill at full speed..  
She still felt ambivalent about the legacy that their mother had left behind, a legacy that neither of she nor her brother had had any idea even existed. It felt like an entire hive of wasps had set up camp inside the hollows of her skull and where industriously skittering around creating a dull, humming throb in between the silence of her thoughts. 

‘Curious,’ she thought, ‘it’s not even painful; it’s not even frightening, it’s not even distracting, it’s just there.’ She reached up to rub at her temples and then rolled her tongue around her mouth in the manner that one would probe for an aching tooth or a canker sore. 

The tension of a building headache not quite felt so much as sensed as being imminent. The dull throbbing sensation felt like it was a harbinger of something more to come which was somewhat alleviated by her massaging her temples.

Meanwhile Hansel had completed his treatment and had gone to speak to Ben about the jammed axle that had gotten the cart bogged down. 

“Blasted, over-loaded, over-priced hunks of junk!” Hansel cursed, lashing out with one heavy leather and metal-studded boot at the offending conveyance. 

“Feel better,” asked Ben quietly.

“No, but it’s the thought that counts,” replied Hansel.

“I think the axle’s not long for this world,” the shorter man replied, giving the wheels a quick but through assessment. “We could use the trees to make a new one, if they’re even the right kind of wood.”

Hansel eyed the spindly rather bedraggled specimens that ringed the promontory while shuffling his feet in the hard-packed ground, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather trousers. “Those aren’t trees; those are the ghosts of trees who have seen better days. But, it’s not a bad idea. Edward,” he called. “We need to borrow your axe, big guy.”  
It turned out that with considerable shoving Hansel and Ben had to improvise a new axle in order to replace the old one that was now damaged beyond repair. 

With the axe that Edward carried strapped to a harness on his back, cut a length of wood from one of the spindly trees that cloaked the promontory, cut to the appropriate length, and then adjust it so the wagon would roll properly once more.

Hansel and she would not have accepted an escort assignment but the offer had been a good one, and they could always find a use for the extra income. 

The contents of the cart were such that they were bundled up and tied with leather straps. If they set out within the hour and barring any further mishaps she reckoned that they would arrive in the village pf Zaragoza within a week, perhaps less than a fortnight, at the most.

The personage that had hired them stood with his fists planted on her hips critically eyeing the contents of the cart, with his own hood thrown back the sun causing his sleek black hair to appear almost blue-black like the polished sheen of the obsidian rings that she wore on his finger. 

Ben elbowed Hansel and muttered under his breath, “If the bastard so much as breathes one word about the stuff being jostled around during transport, I think I’ll scream like a…”he trailed off, trying to bring the unfamiliar yet apt word to mind.

“Banshee” replied Hansel in an undertone, “Wrong climate for those Ben.”

“Oh, right, “Ben replied, nodding.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the time Gretel and went up against a Lorelei?” asked Hansel.

“Those are kind of a like the banshee from the Emerald Isle, except the Lorelei tend to inhabit along the banks of the Rhine,” Ben replied, “So, what do we know about this Don Diego Mendoza Alameda, anyway?” 

“All that we need to know,” Hansel replied. “He’s rich, he’s engaged to be married, and we’re being paid to bring the man’s fortune in silks, religious icons, gold ingots and silver doodads to his blushing bride.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?” asked Ben speculatively. “I bet she’s pretty. I heard that these Iberian girls are supposed to be really beautiful. All black hair, milky white skin, and ruby red lips,” he continued dreamily. 

“Huh?” Hansel grunted, shuffling his feet and keeping his eye on their employer. He could not have said what exactly what it was that was ‘off’ about the man, not in so many words. 

There was definitely something that made all the dark hairs at the nape of his neck prickle like the spines on a porcupine. He didn’t mind so much that from moment they’d met, the man acted all superior and haughty and almost effeminate, judging by the way he pomade his glossy black hair, and the way his toes of Alameda’s boots curled up.  
No, it was definitely something else, something undefinable but nevertheless pervasive, and until he could figure what that particular something was, he would share his concerns with his sister. Hansel had been feeling keyed up of late, and not in a good way. Hansel felt like his nerves were thrumming like a plucked harp string.

“The girl Alameda’s supposed to marry?” Ben added, knocking Hansel out of his meandering thoughts.

Hansel quickly recovered and turned his attention to the young man, saying: “How should I know? As the saying goes, ‘fools rush in where angels fear to tread.’

“I don’t follow,” Ben said 

Hansel shrugged then replied: “I mean, either the man’s a fool for love, or he’s a just a plain fool for risking a king’s ransom hauling all this stuff over the Apennines. Gretel and I heard that bandits are rampant in this area.”

“Bandits?”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyways, as I was saying; almost a century ago a Roman general by the name of Hannibal tried to force march an army over and through these same mountains which was problematic enough.”  
“I’ve read about him in school,” Ben said eagerly.

Hansel grinned and playfully tousled Ben’s hair and then for good measure gave him a mock-severe punch in the left shoulder. “Young pup. So, then you’ve heard that he had an entire platoon made of elephants in tow.”

“That’s a mammoth order.” Ben smirked. 

“What’s a mammoth?” Edward asked as he ambled over to where they stood near the curtain of spindly trees and brow and green streaked scrub brush that came up to the shins of the humans, but barely topped the shins of the slope-shouldered, muscular troll. 

“It’s a large, hairy elephant,” Ben replied. 

Edward thought that over and then nodded.

“That’s enough. Would you go see what his Don-Ship wants?” Hansel said, in the meanwhile I’ll talk to Gretel about our next move.”

Ben grinned and did as he was asked. Don Alameda saw him coming and sneered, a deep furrow appearing in the lines of his swarthy brow.

“This is intolerable!” exclaimed Alameda gesturing with one velvet-gloved hand. 

“You call this, this assemblage’ packing? This is, this is a slip-shod sorry excuse of a ...he trailed off in a sputtering fury.

“If your Grace finds the current arrangement not to your liking, Sir, we can make amends, but you’ll have to allow for some, ah, shifting of the contents during transport. It happens,” Ben finished with a shrug.

“It happens, does it? Ah, ah, the man’s complexion, the color of coffee liberally mixed with milk abruptly turned white and the man began to totter back and forth like a pendulum before his eyes rolled up in his head and he pitched forward. Ben, alarm not yet kicking in, stretched out his arms and caught the Spaniard before he hit the ground, calling out for Gretel’s help as he did so.

She rushed over and got one arm under Alameda’s left, while Ben supported him on his right and they carried him over to the fire that Hansel had built and put him down on the ground. That done, Ben unslung his water canteen and splashed some on the unconscious man’s faced, while Gretel slapped his cheeks, not too roughly, in order to bring him back around. 

“Is he okay?” Ben asked anxiously, mopping his forehead. It was hot now that he stopped to think about it and it the sun had still not reached the meridian, once it did, the heat might become unbearable, but he’d be damned before he would let it show. 

“He will be. It’s getting late, why don’t you guys turn in soon. I’ll take first watch,” she said.

“Do you want some company?” Ben asked.

“That’s sweet, but no, that won’t be necessary,” replied Gretel.

“Okay, just thought I’d ask,” Ben replied and then turned back the way he had come.  
** 

Gretel reached up to push the hood of her cloak back. It was hot, almost too hot for her liking, and she almost missed the breathless air of early spring along the banks of the Rhine, but they had needed to expand their ‘business ventures, as it were, and thus had gone further afield than they were accustomed to, coming to the Iberian Peninsula, and had taken on the job of escort. They had also needed the money, so here they were, camped in the foothills of the mountains, in spring that felt like summer back in Bavaria; and they would all just have to make the best of it.

The spears of sunlight arcing down from a nearly cloudless robin’s egg blue sky feel on her face and neck, the heat even in these mid-range hills was intense. The weather here in the Iberian Peninsula was much hotter than she had expected it would be.

Gretel was almost tempted to attempt an elemental spell that she’d learned but never quite mastered. The spell was supposed to the moisture in the air in a three to five feet radius of her immediate surroundings, so that it would cool things off.

Just when the impulse to do so was so strong that Gretel nearly gave into to it, she restrained herself.  
She could almost hear her brother’s voice in her head, ‘Half-assed magic is more than likely going to cause us more trouble in the long run than the real thing. But; it’s your magic, and I won’t tell you to use, or not use it, unless it is likely to bring harm to you or anyone else.’”

Neither of them had ever been much for random displays of affection; for many different reasons, many of which had to do with the hard life that they’d carved out for themselves.  
When she’d thought to bring up the subject several weeks after discovery of their unexpected and extraordinary legacy, and he’d told her in his customary, blunt, irascible and devil-may-care fashion; she could have kissed him right then and there, and be damned if anyone saw.  
***  
Although they two of them were not twins in the biological sense, and while neither of them felt any need to remark on it, or even think much on it; it was if they were two sides of the same coin,.  
They were two currents flowing with the incessant motion of the tides washing up on the shore obeying no law except of the push and pull of the moon and their own kind of inner harmony.  
Of course, they had their differences, how could they not? 

They had always been very much their own person. However, over the years each of them had developed a kind of sixth sense, a kind of rhythm that they flowed into both when they were on a witch hunt and during their down times.

“Want some company?” Hansel murmured by way of greeting, quietly coming to sit down on the ground beside his sister.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she replied, in a teasing tone that he knew so well.

“Nah just thought you’d like to share the watch.”

“Why would you think that?” Gretel asked, ruffling her hands through her hair and then reaching up to tighten the leather band that restrained the wheat-colored blonde hair in a tightly coiled braid hanging down to almost the middle of her back.

Hansel sighed and then replied: “Because I know you, and I’ve got this feeling that you’ve been bottling stuff up for too long, because you know you do that.”

“All right, I’ll admit I do that, but I’ve got it under control.”

“So, you know what I’m getting at, then?”

“Yes, and we’ve been over this before. In fact, I was recalling that comment you made about the dangers inherent in employing, what did you call it? Oh, yes, half-assed magic.”

“I said that, did I?” 

“Yes, you did. And you’re probably right. You want to know something? I think I’m more angry than tired of having to deal with this alone.”

“Angry, and armed with magic and a temper; well that’s never a good combination, but go on.”

“Angry, not so much that our dearly departed mother left us this ‘legacy’ but I’ve got no one to teach me what I need to know.”

“Mina probably could have, had she lived,” replied Hansel quietly.

“I know, I know,” Gretel replied just as quietly, tipping her body slightly to the left so that she was leaning up against her brother’s left side. “I miss her, too.”

“We’ll figure this out, together, we always do. And despite the whole ‘magical legacy thing, you’re still you, and I’ll stand with you, be with you, come hell, high water and back again. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I couldn’t get rid of you even if I tried,” she offered her brother one of her trade-mark lopsided grins and then kissed on the forehead. “Thanks, for everything.”

“Sure, that’s just how I roll.”

“Okay, then,” she replied.  
***

 

Encounter  
At first she thought it was just her eyes playing tricks on her, but quickly dismissed that notion as quickly as it had arisen. She hardly ever fell asleep on watch and it she did not think that she possessed an over-active imagination.  
She glanced over at where the other members of their small travelling party were huddled into their cloaks, in Edward’s case, just an unusually dun-colored small boulder among the others that littered the scree slope. Or the others, wrapped up in their bed-rolls. No sign of any disturbances from that quarter, then she turned back around to look up at the heights from which they had come down.  
Distance made things a bit a fuzzy around the edges, but there was no sun to dazzle her eyes this time and if she concentrated she could swear that she say figures milling around up there. Just how far or how close they wore she could not make an accurate assessment at this time, but they were coming closer.  
If these horse-back riders had any notion of that their campsite was down here, it would take a better trained eye than even hers, but there really was no sense in taking any chances.

She briefly considered waking Hansel up to go with her on recon but then figured that she could be stealthier and quieter on her own.  
Gretel crept up the slope, skirting the talus slope so that her booted feet would not slip or slide on the scattered rocks and give away her presence.  
Climbing up as carefully as she good she reached an area where the as yet unknown riders had placed sentries and stakes to keep their horses from wandering off. 

All of the riders sported some kind of emblem with a shield and a cross-bow over on the sleeves of their jerkins and wore beige cloaks with a deep red hood that shadowed their faces. Gretel had never seen such heraldic devices before, but that didn’t bother her, at the moment. She wanted to know whether or not their presence in the area had anything to do with her and her mission.  
She gathered, from listening in on their conversations, which consisted mostly of clipped instructions and delegating the necessary task of making camp for the night, that they were intent on a midnight raid. 

Interesting, to her way of thinking, and rather surprising, was the fact that instead of the scraggly, rough, and unkempt notorious company of bandits she had been told to expect roamed these hills, these riders were all woman, and all well turned out. “Curious, very curious,” muttered Gretel under her breath.

She crept back down as silently and carefully as she come up, scrapping her palms on a bit of shrubbery but ignoring it; it had not really hurt anyway.

Gretel went to wake Hansel, Edward and Ben, shoving them slightly, then a bit more forcefully when her initial attempts elicited much more than a few grunts and groans. Hansel rolled over and opened his right eye and glared at her, growling, “It’s still an hour until my watch. What gives?”

“I think we’re about to have some unfriendly visitors. Get everyone else on their feet and armed. I would rather give them something to think about than be taken unawares.”

“Bandit raid?” Hansel responded, this time opening both eyes and lithely untangling himself from his bedroll, patting around the area for his weapons sheath. “Behind you,” Gretel said.

He grabbed for it and nodded his thanks, “How many?”

“At least a dozen,” she replied.

“What do you think they want with us?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” Gretel sighed and ran her hands through her hair, “But we’re about to find out.”  
***  
They came down in a cloud of dust and rocks howling at the top of their lungs, foam curling around the lips of their mounts, and with their hoods pulled down low around their faces, deadly silent except for the drumming noise of their horse’s steel-shod hooves on the rocks and dirt as they came.

Hansel and Gretel, stood at the forefront of their little group, Edward behind them with his axe cocked over one massive shoulder. Ben off to one side and atop a flat-topped boulder with his bow and arrow locked and loaded. Alameda huddled beside the cart and refused to take part in the defense. 

To Gretel’s way of thinking, it was just as well because she certainly did not need a weakling or a coward getting in the way, even if the stuff he’d brought along was worth a small fortune. For all she knew it might very well be that those valuables had drawn the raiders to them; that their objective was to snatch as much as they could carry and then ride away.

Their opponents more than likely had been counting on speed, numbers, darkness and surprise, not to mention the advantage of having the higher ground.  
With Gretel’s scouting on their numbers, and the advance warning, they could at least cut into those aforementioned advantages at least somewhat.

The first volley of arrows came from the mounted raiders, long, narrow, red and white fletched arrows that glistened like bone in the diffuse light of a hunter’s moon overhead. 

The next volley came from Ben as he let fly, it was as if he let loose the tightly wounds cords around his heart, which felt like it were beating double time and would as like as not burst from its casing inside his chest.

The riders left off firing arrows and began to split off into smaller and smaller groups, communicating in terse commands and hand signals. Gretel leaped up and pounced onto the horse ridden by one of the raiders, her momentum overbalancing them both and they fell in a struggling and rolling heap to the ground.

Edward growled menacingly and nearly decapitated one the rider’s horses, but the blow missed as the rider swiftly cut it out of the encircling formation.

Hansel managed to dismount one of the riders and was engaged in trading blows with a quarterstaff. Finally, the getting the better of the contest, he took a quick apprising glance around, shielding his eyes against the stinging of a too short sleep and the glow of their camp fire. 

“I’ve had enough!” he yelled. “I say we let the whoreson bastards take what they want and have done.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” replied Gretel evenly. “There’s really no reason anyone else has to get here. Wouldn’t you agree?” she said as she stood up, drew her dagger and leaned down in order to put pressure with the hilt on the fallen leader’s neck.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the other woman gasped. “Give us what we want and we all walk away from this in one piece.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” asked Gretel.

The woman in the red hood gave vent to a low, but carrying high-pitched whistle that Hansel felt sounded much like that of a snow owl. The signal, if that was what it was, garnered almost immediate results. The raiders immediately left off and drew back to a protective yet wary line behind their leaders. 

“Does that answer your question?” the woman asked. 

“Okay, now, we’re making progress,” replied Gretel. “Who the hell are you?”

“Let me up.”

Gretel did so and stepped back a pace or two, but kept her dagger handy.

“The name is Sabetha de Balzac. Leader of the Company of the Red Hood.”

“What do you want?”

“You must imagine how this looks, that we’re just a mere band of common thugs and brigands. Quite the opposite is true. You see, the man cowering behind his riches is carrying something that must not reach its destination.”

“What kind of item?” asked Hansel curiously.

Sabetha let out another low whistle, this one much more resigned than the previous example, “A document with an unbroken seal.”

“Go get him, Hansel.”

Hansel did as she asked and brought over the reluctant and indignant Alameda to the middle of the promontory while keeping one hand on the smaller man’s shoulder lest he attempt to bolt. “I think it’s in your best interests to settle this matter.”

“I refuse to be treated in this, this, undignified, unjustified, disrespectful manner. Why should you take the word of a common brigand over that of a dignified Spanish nobleman! I never….”

“Hansel, search him,” ordered Gretel.

“Ah, no, no, I mean, that won’t be necessary,” stammered Alameda, at least producing a document case.

Gretel snatched the document tube out of Alameda’s hand and held it tightly out of the Spaniard’s reach, glowering at the man. 

“You mind telling us what this is all about. I don’t mind taking you and your damn cargo all over creation, I don’t even mind having to put up with you ridiculous demands and supercilious attitude; However, I do very much take affront about being lied to you. So, spill it and make it good!”

“I, you wouldn’t understand. It’s not what you think,” Alameda sheepishly spluttered. Then when he realized that his attempts at denial and obfuscation were not convincing at all, and the hard looks on the faces of his hired escorts; his demeanor abruptly changed: he straightened his spine, heaved a deep sigh and furrowed his brow.

“Very well, but the terms of my assignment were that I was to engage your services as both armed escort and experienced witch hunters ideally without letting on that I was also carrying a sealed document.”

“Under whose authority?” asked Gretel.

“I answer to a higher authority,” replied Alameda huffily.

“Open it,” Ben suggested.

“No!” cried Alameda, actual panic robbing him of his customary habitual superior sneer. Then again that affected air common to the aristocratic privileged class might have been all part of his assumed identity.

“If it will avoid any very unpleasantness, I will tell you. I’m actually a courier for the Spanish Inquisition sent to investigate and arrest a witch under suspicion of causing men and women, and children of falling into a ‘sleeping sickness.’”

“Can you tell us more of what this sickness is?” Ben asked, trying to sound professional and matter-of-fact, despite the fact that he felt nervous about whether or not the illness was a communicable one, and if so what the symptoms were like. 

“What causes it?” asked Hansel gruffly.

“More importantly, why do you or rather your superiors believe that it might be the handy-work of a witch?” Gretel added.

“I do not for certain. I only know what I was told upon setting out on this assignment. I can tell you that the victims almost always follow the same pattern.”

“Go on,” Hansel encouraged. 

“At first the victims show no sign of infection, but sooner or later they start coming down with a bout of high fever which lasts about two days”; he swiped the sleeve of his cloak across his own forehead, then continued, 

“Followed by head-aches and bouts of insomnia. In some cases their limbs freeze up so much so that they are unable to move.”

“Nasty stuff,” Ben muttered. “How is it treated?”

“How should I know?” Alameda exclaimed. “Do I look like a physician to you?" All I know is that the cases have we’ve managed to identify thus far have been concentrated in and around the province of Zaragoza.”

“Which is why you’ve been pressing the need for haste,” Hansel remarked.

“Yes, I feel we may have lingered over long. I should have told you in the first place, but it was not my place to countermand the instructions of my superiors,” the older man concluded.

“Yes, you should have,” agreed Gretel, ‘but there’s no damn use in closing the paddock gate once the horses have stampeded.”

“If we leave now we’ll reach our destination by tomorrow evening,” said Hansel.

“Won’t that be too late?” Alameda asked curiously. “Correct me if I’m wrong but aren’t ah, mystical and supernatural powers more potent at night?”

“So, what’s your point?” growled Hansel.

Alameda backed away, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of ‘no harm, no foul,” No, no point, no point at all.”

“I think I’ll just hang onto it for a while.”

“No!” exclaimed the Spaniard.

“You don’t get a vote,” said Ben and Edward echoed him.

“Simmer down there, fellow,” said Hansel, adding, “Get it, simmer like a pot.”

“How very droll,” muttered Alameda.  
**  
Hansel’s estimation of their travel time was a bit too optimistic, for it took another day and well into the afternoon of the next, travelling along the zig-zagging tracks of the mountains until they finally came to an end; the mountain paths terminating in a bowl-shaped valley nestled in their shadow.

Late afternoon

Ben was starving and sweaty and thirsty, and while he tried not to let it show the sweat stains made his clothes stick to his back and stomach like a second skin. In the back of his mind, he thought, ‘Now I know how lizards basking on a ledge feel.’ 

Gretel glanced over her shoulder at the young man and considered: It wouldn’t be a bad idea to stop at a local bistro and sample the cuisine; even Hansel was showing signs of fatigue and while she would not admit to anyone except her brother, she could use a bite to eat and something to stiff to drink themselves. 

Getting Edward into an eating establishment might prove a little more problematic, but she’d deal with that when the time came.

The place was small but well-appointed and neither the owners nor the patrons gave them much more than a curious but speculative look that was a stranger’s due when the small group walked in through the entrance. 

They were escorted to a table at the back with a view of the open-air patio, its wall liberally spattered with greenish-grey trailing ivy and small white flowers peeking out through the tangled greenery like germinating stars in a midnight sky.

Gretel shook her head to clear it of such meandering thoughts and ordered a round of beer for all of them and told the server to leave the pitcher and a basket of bread.  
Alameda opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the hard look in both her and her brother’s eyes wisely and quickly forebear from voicing any protests as to either the choice of dining establishment or about the food.  
When the meal arrived everyone except Alameda began to tuck into the food and the beer with a hearty appetite; the man picked at his food like a bird.

“I doubt that Mendoza will be able to stick to his story once we arrive at the governor’s palace,” Ben observed.

“True,” Hansel grunted, around a mouthful of bread liberally smeared with a fragrant white cheese and then dipped it into a bowl filled with a spicy green sauce. He finished chewing and swallowed and then took a swallow of the ale in his cup. 

“It was supposed to be a cover,” Alameda growled, “It was not as if my superiors actually expected to go through with marrying the girl.”

“I cause you’re just not the marrying type,” Gretel interjected. “What concerns me is how we go about identifying the source of the malign magic and then putting a stop to it.”

“You got a plan?” Hansel asked.

“What’s the governor’s name?”

“Manuel Gonzalez,” replied Alameda. “Don Manuel Javier Gonzalez.” 

Gretel smiled and it was a grim, wicked little smile that would not have been out of place on the bewhiskered face of the proverbial cat that ate the pet canary; “Well, then, that’s the first place would should start looking for answers.”

**

Shortly after first sunrise and having had the chance to at least make themselves somewhat presentable they walked up to the governor’s palace. A lavish affair of stucco and sandstone with pillars supporting a wrap-around porch and a red roof. The man they’d been told to meet with stood on the steps leading down off the front and greeted them warmly if bit nervously. He was flanked by his wife, and his aide and several armed guards.

“Welcome to Zaragoza!” he exclaimed, intertwining his fingers with their sparkling rings in a loose triangular shape. “I am Manuel Javier Gonzalez and we’ve been expecting you. I had hoped it would be under more pleasant circumstances, but please come in!”

“Nice to meet you,” Hansel added, nudging his sister in the ribs. “I’m Hansel, this is Gretel, that’s Ben and the big guy is Edward. Your daughter’s fiancé is Alameda Mendoza. But, there’s something that you need to know about him before you go forward with any formal wedding plans.”

“What do you mean?” asked Manuel.

“I think we best continue our discussion inside, in less,” Manuel paused and glanced around, in more private surroundings.”

“Of course,” said Gretel calmly, adding, “Edward, stay outside,” Gretel said. “You’ll have to forgive our companion, he’s not ah, ‘house- broken.” Leaning over to whisper in the big guy’s ear she added, “If Alameda Mendoza decides to bolt; stop him.”

“Edward stays,” he grunted and nodded at the last instruction.

“Yes, well, I hadn’t well, yes do come in. Your man can wait out here if he’s more comfortable that you,” Manuel was clearly flustered, but was doing his best to not to show it.  
**  
Manuel led them past a lavish foyer and sitting room and up through to the second story and then past wood-paneled walls covered in tapestries probably of religious nature but now covered in layers of dust which obscured much of their detail. 

Ben thought they might even pastoral but he couldn’t be sure, and he certainly had ever considered himself an expert in art but, he didn’t think that the household staff was very good in maintainece of the household. The few servants he did see kept their gazes down and focused on their tasks; the mood of the household was somber and even a bit apprehensive. To Ben’s way of thinking it seemed as if everyone from their master on down was holding their collective breath, as in anticipation of a blow.

He wanted to voice his ideas but was unsure both of the propriety and the timing, so he decided he’d bide his time and bring it up to Hansel and Gretel when they had a moment alone.

Manuel paused before a bedchamber door paneled in the same cherry wood as the hallways, and turned to look at them. “It’s going to be difficult for my wife and I to show what’s happened to my daughter, so Senor Mendoza, I hope you will forgive me if I am forced by circumstances to cancel your betrothal. It would appear your big day will have to wait.”  
Alameda Mendoza heaved a sigh and appeared to blanch so that his skin appeared a mottled as the skin of a tortoise, before he recovered and nodded. “I, that is, I completely understand Don Gonzalez.”  
Hansel snorted and shook his head. “I take it she’s a victim of the sickness that’s affecting so many folks in these parts?”

“Yes, it’s quite tragic,” Manuel began but was cut off.

“Manuel,” called a feminine voice. “Is that you?”

“Ah, please come in. My wife has sitting vigil on our daughter, so she will be able to answer any questions you might have better than I could,” said Manuel.

The woman dressed in ebony and black silks was a beautiful, her hair bound in an elaborate net of held in place with ivory combs and covered in a veil sewn with seed pearls so that it sparkled in the afternoon light coming in through the lead-paned windows. “Carmen” these are the people we’ve been waiting for.”

“Welcome to Zaragoza,” Carmen greeted as she glided forward, holding out on slender white hand with rings glittering on it for them to kiss.  
Gretel managed adroitly, Hansel less so, and Ben managed, stammering something in that he could never recall seconds after it was out of his mouth.

“I am Carmen, we brought you up here to see our daughter out of more than just selfish need to find a cure for her alone, but so you can see for yourself the effects of the sleeping sickness causes.”

“What’s your daughter’s name,” Ben asked.

“Miranda Corazon,” replied Carmen.

“That’s a beautiful name,” Ben said.

Carmen nodded and then rose from her chair leaving her embroidery hoop on the end table beside the bed.

Covered up to her pale neck a still thin figure lay, breathing shallowly, the rise and fall of her chest the only sign that she was alive.

Ben came forward and bent down so that his ear was close to the young woman’s mouth and listened to her shallow breathing. Her long black hair had been combed and plaited into a tight braid, presumably by her mother.  
Her eyes were closed and the black lashes fluttered in time to the rhythms of breathing. Ben had never seen anyone so utterly beautiful and tragic. 

“Does it take everyone this way?” he asked as he straightened up once more and backed away from the bed. 

“Senora,” Hansel began, using the honorific common to the area, “We need to you to tell us something, and please don’t take this the wrong way, or believe that we don’t take this as seriously…”

“Ask?” Carmen replied quietly.

“Are you a hundred percent positive that this sleeping sickness is actual the work of supernatural forces and not just an illness brought on by bad airs, or some kind of plague, of some sort?”  
Carmen and her husband did not reply immediately. “Our daughter is not an isolated case, Manuel please go and get the log book from the library.”

“Of course,” replied Don Javier.”

While he was gone Carmen,” You must understand that in the beginning we too harbored such doubts as you have voiced. The people of Zaragoza are renowned for their forward thinking and innovative ways.” Carmen paused and then added, “However, there are also a small but vocal minority who prefer to cling to old-fashioned traditions.

Gretel nodded. “Go on. At first it only began to appear in small quarters of the city, although to be fair, it was only within the last five years that it began to affect significantly larger and larger areas of the population.”  
“We’ve,” Gretel cast a withering glance on Alameda Mendoza who was attempting to blend into the walls with less than stellar results,” became aware of the problem recently. “

“What’s in this book?” asked Ben.

Carmen explained: “The book records the list of the victims, and they’re symptoms as well as the various treatments, medicines and powders the doctors have attempted to use to treat the illness.” 

At the moment Don Javier returned with a large leather-bound book cradled in his arms, he placed it on a table away from the bed.

“Can she hear us?” Ben asked

Don Javier replied: “I think so, but perhaps not, we do not know for certain. But we did not bring you up here just for the sake of daughter but for all the other daughters and sons who have been stricken by this, this malady.”

Gretel nodded, “So, we’ve ruled out natural causes....” she trailed off significantly.

“Which means that once one has eliminated all the ordinary explanations whatever remains; no matter how extraordinary…”

“Must be the cause,” concluded Gretel, “as she began to page through the book, it took while and with Ben’s and Carmen’s help where she had difficulty translating from the Spanish, and deciphering the scrawled hand-written notes in the margins. 

She had never seen anything quite like this, blinding head-aches, fevers, and chills and then wracking spasms until the victim stiffened up until they were effectively living statutes. If some kind of malign force was at work it  
would be difficult to locate it and even more difficult to stop it.

“I think we’ve seen enough here,” Hansel said. “Perhaps it would help to look in on the other ah, victims. If you don’t mind my saying so, it appears that the lights are on but no one’s home.”

Gretel had just opened her mouth to suggest that they adjorn to the study or the parlor or someplace where they continue their discussion without Miranda presence.  
She was not as certain as the poor girl’s parents or her companions that the comatose girl could neither hear, nor sense their presence in the room.

But the words caught in her throat as the pale, silent, unmoving girl in the bed suddenly sat up, and began to rock to and fro, her hands restlessly grasping her bed linens ; arresting the attention of everyone in the room.

They all turned towards her, her father wanting to do something, anything, wanting some sign that his little girl was back, instead, even as he reached out to touch her, he drew back, caught up by some unnamable, unreasoning fear that he should not do so.

Miranda’s eyes suddenly snapped open and her head turned to regard everyone in the room. The voice that issued from her throat did not belong to her either, instead another older, huskier and older but still recognizably that of a woman issued from her. 

“So,” it said. “You at least begin to understand. It certainly took you long enough.”

“Who are you” demanded Don Javier.

“Who am I? Oh, that’s rich. Don Javier. I don’t know if should be angry with you or pitying you; you poor, foolish, arrogant man. I could say that you brought this on yourself, but that would be a lie and we have come to the hour for hard truths.”

Carmen strode forward, “You speak as though of retribution, and the hour of hard truths, but that’s just another lie, isn’t it?”

“Why use this girl, why not reveal yourself,” demanded Hansel.

“Soon enough, soon enough,” responded the woman using Miranda like a burning glass through which she I can narrow my will.”

“Beatrice!” he cried. “How could you? We trusted you.”

“I was counting on that, you foolish mortal,” replied the woman he’d called Beatrice.

“What do you want?” demanded Carmen.

Beatrice laughed; the sound of it extremely harsh and grating on the ears, “I think that should be obvious. I want power and the knowledge that you all are helpless to stop me from exacting my revenge.”

“You wouldn’t go to all this trouble, if you didn’t want to be found,” opined Gretel. 

“Hmm, you’re right. It would hardly be satisfying to only bring ruin to one noble family, no, no, and all the others who have already succumbed, no, come to me, little witch hunter. You want to stop me, and then come to the Plaza del Mariposas Negros; then we shall see! Oh, we shall see!” Beatrice’s diatribe ended on a rising crescendo and then as abruptly as she had manifested through Miranda’s body, it faded away, like the sun coming out from behind an obscuring blanket of clouds.

“Is Miranda okay?” asked Manuel anxiously. Ben stilted over to the bed and checked, “I think so, but she’s had a nasty shock. I really think we should, oh, hell, I don’t know. Maybe you should give her something stronger than opiates and wine mixed with water.” He ran his hands through his hair as and then swore under his breath, “Hell, I could use a stiff drink myself.”

“Later, Ben, “Hansel said, and then turned to face the unfortunate young woman’s parents, saying, “I think you two should remain here with your daughter, in the meantime, the rest of us will go to this plaza and we’ll find out what’s really going on.”

Gretel shook her head, not in denial, not in confusion, but in an attempt to shake loose an elusive thought, maybe they were missing something here, maybe they were playing into the witch Beatrice’s hands. If even it was a trap, she thought they understood the risks, and it was not as if they were not without skills and weapons of their own. 

She’d determined that they would not be leaving this place until this was over and they witch was dead. She and the others stepped out of the bedroom, back down the corridors and out the front door where they picked up Edward along the way. Taking the map offered by Don Javier so they could more easily find the Plaza de los Miraposas Negros.

Don Javier had his guards he’d left posted outside bring around enough horses for them to ride and Gretel took the map, as she swung up into the saddle of her chosen mount, a bay gelding with a white stripe on its left flank, she whispered to Don Javier that he keep Don Alameda Mendoza carefully watched. He nodded in acknowledgement and wished them good luck.  
Hansel, who had caught the tail-end of the exchange, grunted but said nothing about it.  
****  
The closer they got to the plaza and the source of the witch’s base of power, the more the horses became increasingly restless, side-stepping away from the cobbled paths of the streets, and shaking their heads, and pulling on the bits; forcing their riders to keep them on track. Once, Edward, who was a bit big for a horse, and kept pace alongside, had to chase after a fractious filly that had bolted with Ben maintaining a white-knuckled grip on his reins. But other than that, there were no further obstacles.

The plaza, as Ben translated from the Spanish, he’d been riding close to Gretel in order to read the directions on the map given them by Don Javier, meant, the Plaza of the Black Butterflies, was aptly named. It had a wrought-iron gate with wickedly sharp looking spikes surmounting it. The lock was carved into the shape of over-lapping black butterflies with a silver star in the center.

“Edward has a bad feeling about this.”

“You and me both, big guy, but we’re here, best get this over with.” 

The gate as intimidating as it had appeared from a distance was not locked, and they were able to ride into the plaza one after another.

In the center of the plaza stood a fountain, nymphs pouring water from stone urns into a wide stone basin. It would have been quite pretty if it hadn’t been so rundown. Emerging from the shadows of the buildings to the rear of the plaza Beatrice came out, a smirk on her lips, hovering in the background and in the porches of their homes several villagers stood fearfully watching how events played out.

“I see you received my invitation. You show more innovative and courage than I would have given you credit for. However, as they say, often courage and foolishness often live side by side. I do wonder which will hold true for the lot of you.”

Gretel dismounted leaving Ben and the others to deal with the horses, striding forward with one hand on the curve of her cross bow. “Enough with the taunts and the mocking innuendo bitch. And yeah, I went there. You’ve done enough to these people!”

“I didn’t think you cared,” replied Beatrice.

“You spoke, at length, about getting revenge, seems to me a kind of weird way to go about it,” stated Gretel.

“Ah, well,” Beatrice sighed,” You know what they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”  
Hansel and Ben and Edward, having taken the horses to safe distance, soon joined her.

“What’s the plan?” asked Hansel.

“I would have preferred to chose our battlefield,” replied Gretel in an undertone, “but we can’t always get what we want.”  
Beatrice’s eyes suddenly went coal black like a raven’s wing.

Hansel figured that he’d never seen anything quite like this; the witch’s eyes turned from deep blue to almost black with no whites showing and then she pricked her fingers with a needle drawing blood which pooled and bubbled and began chanting in a language that grated on his ears just to listen to it. He clapped his hands over his ears and gritted his teeth, hoping it would block out the horrible sound.  
He was not the only one so affected, because his companions had also done likewise.

Hansel uttered a low whistle out from between his teeth, his eyes narrowing in concentration and a little bit of worry as he saw several of the villagers seemingly caught in an invisible yet unbreakable net of magical energy and begin to twitch, then falling to the ground wracked with spasms and then lose consciousness before they finally stiffened up like statues.

“Do you have a way to cure this?” asked Ben, his fingers itching to draw the dagger hanging at his belt, or barring that option at least some of the hand-held projectiles that upon detonating released a debilitating cloud of smoke and gas. It would put paid at least in some measure to that awful sensation of having an invisible power rip you up inside with liquid fire one moment and freeze you solid the next.

He grabbed a handful from his belt and, primed them, and then throw four overhand, making contact with his intended target. The smoke bombs detonated in a sulfurous cloud of dust, momentarily blinding their opponent.

“I just might, but I need to concentrate,” replied Gretel.

“So, a distraction, then? “ remarked Hansel. 

“Do you whatever it takes, I need to time to figure this out,” said Gretel.

“Poor little witch hunters, “ crooned Beatrice, “always relying on brute force, do you really believe you can defeat that way?”

“Cut left, I’ll cut right, laying in suppressing fire and use those damn smoke bombs, Ben. We need to give Gretel time to come up with a counter spell or least something that will give us time to think of another strategy,” ordered Hansel.

“Way ahead of you,” yelled Ben, running off to the left, while Hansel and Edward cut right.

Beatrice wiped the stinging remnants of gas and smoke from her eyes, the moisture in her eyes, now back to their regular shade of brown, causing runnels of black kohl to smear her face, giving her the appearance of rain-soaked and bedraggled raccoon. 

To Ben’s way of thinking that comparison would have been hilarious in any other circumstance, but this was certainly no time for levity. He chose a good vantage point and began to lift his bow, ready to aim and fire. It was a compound cross-bow which required time and precision to properly lock and load, while he was doing that he lifted his head long enough to check on Edward.

The big troll was trundling along behind, at a slow but deliberate pace, with the intent of jumping the witch and knocking her to the ground. 

If the witch had possessed eyes in the back of her head, Ben would not have been surprised, freaked out, yes, but not surprised. For no sooner than Edward had his hands around her waist, a pivot, a snap of her head, and her hair whirling around her head in a black cloud, then Edward was hurtled back the way he had come by an invisible force, end over end like a broken wagon wheel flung by an irate mule-train owner, to smack into the wall of a nearby building and land in a heap.

Hansel, too had already ready his own crossbow, firing off volley after volley of modified arrows, with better success than Edward had had, for at least, they did some damage.

Beatrice was now bleeding from several wounds, a long gash along her right forearm, but she either did not feel them or was ignoring them, for she turned to address Gretel once more. “Your companions can only slow me down, they cannot stop me. Again, I ask you, what are you going to do?”

“Your spell causes everyone to fall asleep. I think it’s high time everyone woke up,” Gretel retorted.

“I don’t understand,” murmured Beatrice.

Gretel snorted. “Plain and simple, I’m going to kill you.

“You really should be more careful, little witch hunter, when fighting monsters, you should take care not to become one,” said Beatrice in an off-hand manner, tilting her head to one side as if just now becoming aware of an elusive piece of a puzzle she’d been trying to solve and only now becoming aware of the solution.

“What the hell does that mean?” Gretel demanded.

“Nothing, much, I really don’t give a damn,” replied Beatrice, and again her eyes went black as she summoned her power in order to cast another spell.

With the force of a sucker punch to the gut, a wave of force, one that Gretel was unable to put a name two took her over. At first, she thought it might have something to do with whatever forces that the other witch had summoned. 

Gretel forced her staggering and resisting body to move, to lever the sword at her hip into action and strike down the other woman. But instead she could not move, until she pushed out with the force of her own will. The resistance was like pushing against a solid wall; a wall that she could not see, smell, taste or feel, but nevertheless viscerally knew that it was there. 

 

Beatrice’s chanting became a low, throaty murmuring like the swarm of bees from a disturbed hive. The force that swelled out from somewhere inside of her gradually increased, and before she knew it she was surrounded in a white nimbus of energy. It began to build and build, demanding to be released. Gretel held her arms out parallel from her body and stood with her feet planted on the stones of the cobbled streets, and stopped thinking, and just let the power flow out of her.

If Beatrice had noticed the change of aspect come over her foe, a foe she had thought and assessed as little more than an arrogant and overly-ambitious and out of her depth little witch-hunter she certainly showed no signs of it. 

For her part, Gretel stopped thinking and just allowed the power to surge through her and spread her arms out from her body, and towards her opponent. The two rays of energy, one dark, one light for the space of a heartbeat, seemed to fight each other, even as much as their weilders fought each other, eventually converging together to form into a whirling vortex shot through with silver sparks.  
Eventually the coursing energies came together, colliding with the sound of thunder cracking. 

In between the gaps in the swirling vortex, if one looked closely, Beatrice eyes had returned to their normal brown with the whites showing, her lips were narrowed in concentration and more than a little anger, and she stood with her legs braced like an old solider forced to put up with an unecessary inspection. 

She flung her arms out and shrieked, the sound of it harsh and rackous as the ravens hanging out on the eaves of the houses that lined the plaza or perched on the stone shoulders of the nymphs of the center fountain. If there had been any words in that last utterance no one present was able to understand them.

Eventually, something had to give, as it was, the vortex of energies ended, and with the suddenness of sucker punch to the gut, Beatrice, exploded , not in bits and pieces, but all of a piece. 

Ben, who had been crouched too close to the epicenter of the explosion was thrown backward, to tumble end over end along the cracked cobblestones of the plaza to come to a thumping landing, splashing landing inside the bowl of the fountain. 

Ben got out, shedding water from his leather jacket and clothes.

Gretel slumped to her knees, overcome with the power she’d expended, the relief of having it over with, a kind of giddy realization that they’d won, because of her. When combined all together, it was really rather amazing. 

At the moment she couldn’t help herself, she began to laugh , much more freely and louder and longer than she had ever laughed before  
Hansel, at first eyeing her sidelong for a moment, seemed to sense a little bit of her mood, and began to laugh along with her, with Ben and Edward joining in.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the head,” muttered Hansel after he stopped laughing, bending over a little to put his hands on his knees, and breathing through his nose. He’d gotten more than a little dust into his mouth and nostrils.

“You look like someone dipped you in a barrel of sawdust,” observed Gretel.

“Geez, thanks. Hansel exclaimed. “Well, well, I’ll be,” he let out a low piercing whistle. “Nice going, Sis.”

“Honestly, bro,” gasped Gretel, “ I had no idea I had that kind of power inside of me.”

“Good thing that you did,” her brother replied. “I take back what I said earlier, about the dangers of employing half-assed magic. I’m sorry, I think I might have been out of line.”

“Don’t be.” Gretel shook her head. “You were half-right, and half-wrong, if that doesn’t sound completely insane. I think we, I still need to be cautious about how and when I use my magic. But I need to understand more about it.”

“That was amazing,” gushed Ben.

“Edward agree.”

“Glad we put this in the win column,” replied Gretel, mustering a shaky smile for the sake of her brother and her friends, “But it sure as hell took a lot out of me. I sincerely hope I never have to do anything like that anytime soon.”

“Then I say, it’s time we got the hell outta here,” stated Hansel.

“Yeah, I suspect we should let Don Javier that it’s over,” said Gretel reluctantly, but knowing that that part of the sense of having a sense of accomplishment, and not doing a through job no matter how unpleasant, meant that she did not like leaving a loose ends. 

“Ben, go round up the horses, and we’ll be going,” said Hansel.

“Sure,” Ben replied and set off to do so.

“Ben all wet,” observed Edward.

“The climate in Iberia is warm enough to fry an egg if you leave it out long enough,” Hansel,” He’ll dry off soon enough.”

“Hmm, Edward suppose so.”

“Besides I’m sweating like a pig here,” Hansel added, unbuttoning his jacket and rolling up the sleeves.

“Here comes Ben with the horses. Come on, guys,” said Gretel.  
****  
Aftermath/Conclusion

Back at the governor’s manse they had taken Don Javier’s offer to patch up their injuries and rest, but both Hansel and Gretel had agreed they did not want to spend any more time in this place than was necessary, if they could help it. The villagers who had been most seriously affected by the spell had slowly and gradually began to unfreeze, and wake up, bewildered by their ordeal. 

“How are you feeling, Ben?” Gretel asked. “You took the brunt of that blast pretty hard.”  
Ben reached up and rubbed his temples and rolled his shoulders around for a bit in order to assess the damage before he replied. “Stiff, sore, with an awful headache, but otherwise I feel fine.”

“Ed all right,” Edward chimed in, rubbing his brow and the small of his back. “Ed made of strong stuff.”

“Yeah,” Gretel managed a tight smile for both of her friends.

“At least you’re a damn sight better off than those poor sods that quite literally froze up as stiff as petrified wood from the Black Forest,” drawled Hansel, adding, “I swear I’ve never seen the like.”

“At least, no one else will have to suffer through anything like that again,” said Gretel, shaking her head as if to rid it of the inevitable cobwebs that had accumulated inside. “Having seen it in action as it were, and having stopped it by killing its agent, it still don’t understand any more than I did when we went it in.” She paused. “Truth to tell, guys, I don’t think I want to. “

“What about Alameda? What are we going to do about him?”

“Figure that if his bosses want him back, they’ll come get him. Our part in this is over,” replied Gretel.

“You’ll get no argument from me,” growled Hansel. “The sooner we get out of here, the happier I’ll be.”

“I concur,” Ben added, clapping Edward on the back, “How about it, big guy?”

Edward nodded. “We go, then.”

“Right then,” Gretel stated as she finished saddling up the horses that a grateful town had given them in addition to the bag of golden escudos for saving their town from ‘sleeping sickness’ spell, the coins making a significant jingle as she placed it into her saddle bag, “On to the next adventure.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Karrenia's We’ve got a world of Black Eyed Blues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646308) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh)




End file.
